


This One’s For You

by theshipstorulethemallwrites



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Almost Kiss, Alternate Universe - Kingsman Fusion, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-31 16:56:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19430194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshipstorulethemallwrites/pseuds/theshipstorulethemallwrites
Summary: Since his father’s death in a classified military accident, William Nylander has always had a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he could be more. And then he gets in trouble in a way that he can’t get out of.Enter KingsmanEnter Kyle Dubas





	This One’s For You

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [neerdowellwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neerdowellwolf/pseuds/neerdowellwolf) in the [PuckingRare2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/PuckingRare2019) collection. 



> it takes a village to create a fic, especially when you switch ideas completely in the first week of June
> 
> so thank you to Jacq for sparking the idea, to Cat for the aesthetic, to S and Stef for the beta, for Ki and Kit and Brookyn for sprinting with me to finish to the fic, to everyone who immediately said doing a kingsman au was a genus idea
> 
> I love you all so much 
> 
> this achieves the prompt, I think (lol)
> 
> brief explanation of the code names 
> 
> Knights of the Kingsman  
> Arthur - Lou  
> Galahad - Kyle as of eleven years ago  
> Lancelot - Joe as of ten years ago, now ?????  
> Percival - Naz as of two years ago  
> Kay - Hayey as of five years ago  
> Tristian - Mo as of four years ago

Every time Willy thinks he’s figured out what he’s supposed to be doing, something switches. First, he was twelve and dominating hockey and suddenly returning home to find out his dad died on some classified military mission. Then, he’s eighteen and his mom has remarried a scumbag and she’s begging him to come home from marine training. And only a few months ago, he was drinking away with his friends, provoking his scumbag of a stepfather and his cronies and being haunted by a voice and a face he’d never thought he’d hear again. Only to have the man step out from the shadows, hand him an opportunity and give him a name.

And now because of his own heart and Kyle Dubas’s faith, he’s tied to the train tracks in a fucking suit after attempting to seduce someone he had absolutely no interest in. Because the opportunity to become a spy. Because his father died at the stage he’s trying to reach. Because he’s in love with the untouchable. Because being believed in is intoxicating.

So when a thin man with a slasher smile asks him what Kingsman is, his only response is “fuck you, untie me.”

And then the man leans down and Willy feels breath stinking up his skin and asks “Willy, who’s Kyle Dubas?”

Willy realizes this, not the seduction, is the test. It’s a test of loyalty, and he remembers Kyle taking him to bank and telling him that when he saw Willy in the mirror, he’ saw, “a young man with potential, a man who is loyal, a man who wants to do something good with his life.”

Dammit, Willy wants to prove Kyle right.

So, even as his mind fills with flashes with Kyle, he spits out, shaking in the ropes, “I don’t know who the fuck that is.”

The man’s smile widens, “final question, is Kingsman worth dying for?”

That answer is easy, coming to Willy’s lips in flash; the only pause is to remember Kyle’s hand squeezing his shoulder, to remember Kyle’s proud grin over his test scores, to remember how much Willy wants to prove everyone here wrong. He’s the best and he knows that. He’s grinning something fierce as he yells to the empty air, “fuck yes.”

Suddenly the train that was blaring in his ears is passing over him, and he’s brought up to see Kyle, dress shirt sleeves rolled up, glasses on, and beaming.

“Well done Willy,” he says, reaching down to help pull him up.

“How’d the others do?” Willy asks, brushing the dirt from his slacks.

“Auston passed with flying colors, of course.”

Willy grins: that’s his best friend. Auston, like Willy, was a somewhat unexpected choice for the Kingsman recruitment. Apparently it’s the 4th such recruitment in 6 years, after decades of only needing to recruit every 10 years or more. It’s concerning to say the least. Willy won’t lie and say that he’s not worried about his sisters or his mom, if he takes the role of Lancelot. Or that he’s not worried about Auston, if he gets the role. He knows he shouldn’t be worried about Kyle, trained spy and master of manipulation and all, but he is.

“What about Max?” Willy asks, not able to hide the distaste for the other man. He’s rude and obnoxious and an all-around asshole who’s had everything handed to him since birth. Willy and Auston both had to work to get to where they are.

“He’s up next,” Kyle says, lips curving into a grin. “Want to watch?”

Willy nods, and the two of them step back to headquarters, joining the trainee’s Merlin, known to some as Keefe, and Auston and his mentor, a formidable woman who went by her codename Kay, behind the one-way glass.

They watch Max fail epically, and Willy reaches out to fistbump Auston, ignoring the barely restrained exasperation from the adults at their celebration.

“Congratulations, Willy, Auston, you are the final two. Galahad, Kay, as custom demands, you have 24 hours to spend with them,” Merlin says, pride dancing in his eyes as he looks at them. Auston and Kay leave immediately, but Willy watches Kyle, who looks a little nervous at the thought of spending twenty four hours uninterrupted with Willy. Good, that means Willy’s heart might not be doomed to break, even with the bruises already yellowing over.

“Willy,” Merlin stops him as they make their way to the door, “you should know your father reached this stage.”

Willy nods; Kyle had already told him this, not that he’d really understand what it meant at the time.

Kyle leds him out the door and tosses him car keys, “Wanna drive?”

Willy smirks; Kyle has apparently forgotten that they’d met because Willy had stolen a car and been arrested. He’d used the medallion from the police station.

“You sure that's a good idea?” He respects Kyle too much to simply take the keys, and he can’t help the grin that spreads across his face when Kyle nods.

“I trust you.”

“Shouldn’t trust a street kid with a car like that,” Willy says quietly, skittering to a stop when he sees the car that Kyle drives, it’s a sleek silver Ferrari and, knowing Kingsman, outfitted with weapons and technology beyond most manufacturers’ imaginations.

“Not trusting a street kid, William. I’m trusting you,” Kyle responds, sliding in the passenger seat and raising an eyebrow as Willy lingers in the driveway. Willy holds his hands up and gets in the car, “Where to?”

Kyle glances at his watch, “In gratitude for helping recover the Stanley Cup in the 1970s, there are tickets set aside for Kingsman at every single NHL game across the league, and if we drive quickly, we could make the Leafs game.”

Willy’s mouth falls open; he’s lived in Toronto his entire life, played hockey until he was twelve, but Leafs tickets had never been an option. And here is Kyle, already having given him a second chance at being the man he could have been, handing him his childhood dream like it’s nothing.

“This isn’t another test is it?” he has to ask and some level of rage flashes in Kyle’s eyes before disappearing just as quickly.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Kyle says quietly, and Willy smiles at him as he turns into Toronto traffic. He knows that Kyle wouldn’t, but Arthur, the head of the organization, does not like him at all. Willy knows that the man will do anything to not have Willy becomes a Kingsman, and he is, at the end of the day, Kyle’s boss.

Glancing at the clock, he sees that it’s 5:45, and the game, factoring in all the pre-game festivities, will start at 6:50. Toronto traffic means even with that hour of travel time, it will take longer. Kyle doesn’t look worried, just directs Willy down side streets he’s never seen before.

They pull up to the outer edge of a parking lot, and Kyle directs Willy to an open spot.

“Nice job,” he comments and Willy raises an eyebrow. Surely he hasn’t been telegraphing his desire for Kyle’s praise that much. Kyle laughs, looking at him, “No, you drove the car without triggering any of the features. Every other Kingsman including me has blown something up or made the car fly the first time they drove it.”

“I could have flown?!” Willy demands, pouting even as Kyle leads them right to will call.

“Yes, but I would have found it less commendable than what you just did.”

Willy grins, shoving his hands in his pockets and following Kyle to their seats. Which, he shouldn’t be surprised, are right behind the Toronto bench.

“Really?” he asks, eyes focused on the ice. They missed the anthem but only just, which means the faceoff happened while they were getting settled.

“What? That these are the seats or that Bozak lost the faceoff that bad?” Kyle says, leaning forward to watch the Leafs goalie calmly collect a puck from in front of his net.

“Both,” Willy responds. He hollers, “Come on 29! That was a terrible pass!”

“It really was. I remember from your file that you could have made the NHL had you kept it up after your dad.”

Willy shakes his head, “Mom didn’t want me playing a sport where they wear knives on their shoes and fight. Also we couldn’t afford it.”

“A shame but also a blessing,” Kyle murmurs, looking directly at Willy.

Ducking his head, Willy returns his attention to the game, even though Kyle’s very presence is distracting. Both of them jump out of their seats when the Leafs score, brushing close together in a way that reminds Willy that every time they ever touched has been initiated by Kyle.

He hopes that stops soon, knows that his heart wants this in a way that it’s never wanted anything, and in order to get there, well, he has to start.

It feels like a normal evening out with a friend and they spend much of it talking hockey and avoiding the topic of what they actually do. Willy takes some videos and sends it to Auston who immediately texts him back a photo of him and of the Canadian Women’s hockey team, drinking at a bar with the caption, “I win.”

Willy laughs and shows the photo to Kyle who chuckles, texting Kay a series of emojis.

“You guys know how to use emojis?” Willy asks, taking a sip of his beer.

Raising an eyebrow, Kyle answers him with a dry tone that Willy files away to jerk off to later, “It is 2019, William. Of course I do.”

“Well, everyone around the organization has been implying that picking me for the position was radical, excuse me for doubting you knew how to work technology.”

“Just because we have the Merlins does not mean we are technologically illiterate.”

“So you heard about the whole Bettman thing?” Willy confirms, there’s been rumors of a hositile takeover of the Leafs in the news recently. The name had caught Willy’s eye because Bettman is known on the streets and well, he’s dangerous. Kyle gives a small nod, turning his attention back to the game, which has started up again without Willy realizing it.

All told, it was a very enjoyable game even though, like normal, the Leafs lost. The consolation of one point for the overtime loss helped to ease the sting.

“That was fun,” Willy comments, arms swinging at his sides as they make their way to the car. “But, for real, you never answered the question about the seats.”

Kyle slides into the driver’s seat and grins. “Well, I love hockey. I wanted to go in it but things,” his expression goes dark in a way that Willy has never seen before, “happened, and I was picked for Kingsman.”

“So you chose the seats?” Willy confirms, delighted by Kyle’s nod. “I find myself liking you more with each passing day.”

“Good, you should like the people you work with,” Kyle comments, maneuvering them towards the suburbs.

Willy reaches out to turn on some music, sensing that Kyle needs a break from entertaining him, but Kyle slaps his hand away.

“What?” he demands, knowing that hurt is leaking through his question. Kyle’s never raised a hand towards him before, and he never thought that it would even be a possibility.

“Sorry,” Kyle frowns, “the button you were about to push would have activated automatic self destruct.”

“Oh, and you didn’t think that was important to share before I started fiddling with the console,” Willy says, shaking his head jokingly.

“I’ll let you handle the radio,” he concedes, grinning as Kyle turns on the Queen radio station, playing an Elton John song that Willy vaguely recognized from watching his parents dancing in the living room as a kid.

Kyle hums along softly, turning onto a street with large houses that are almost mansions, and Willy just stays quiet, memorizing the sight of a relaxed Kyle Dubas and letting his heart leap at the fact Kyle trusted him enough to relax.

“Come with me,” Kyle says, unlocking and opening the doors with the click of a button, laughing when he catches sight of Willy’s awed expression.

“Am I staying here tonight or going back to headquarters?” Willy asks as they head through Kyle’s house without stopping, ending up in his office, an office covered with newspapers front pages.

“We only get 24 hours, and I want to make sure you’re as prepared as possible, so if you’re willing, I’d like you to stay with me.”

Willy nods. He points at the newspaper by the door, a headline about the Prime Minister scandal from when Willy was 12, “What’s with the newspapers?”

“Well, that was the front page of the Times the day I defused a dirty bomb in Pearsons.”

It’s so unexpected that Willy chuckles, gesturing to another newspaper, this time about Obama’s election to a second term, “And that one?”

Kyle shakes his head, looking at with a slightly fond expression, “That one, I was in Switzerland, and I had just stopped a coup in Geneva.”

Willy raises an eyebrow, “So…”

Kyle sits in his chair, spinning it around for a few seconds before facing Willy and looking at him seriously, “This job doesn’t grant recognition or fame. We are meant to operate in the shadows and it makes having any kind of life, any of kind of roots, basically impossible.” He sighs, “It’s something you need to be prepared for. That you will have to leave whatever life you had behind to become a Kingsman.”

There’s regret in his tone, longing that Willy recognizes and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, “What did you leave behind?”

“It was the possibility of something, more than anything real at the time,” Kyle responds, something in his gaze that makes Willy step closer. He’s close enough to Kyle that he can see the way Kyle’s eyes widen, the way he doesn’t move, the way he parts his lips.

“And now?” Willy finds himself asking, reaching a hand to steady himself on the desk. Kyle swallows, Willy’s eyes tracking the movement, and they both breathe at the same time, the air exhaling from their lungs in unison.

“You make me think I was wrong about leaving it behind forever,” Kyle says, so quietly that if Willy wasn’t so close, he would have only heard every third word.

“Willy,” Kyle murmurs, surprising Willy by leaning in even more, his hands coming up to wrap around Willy’s waist.

“Yeah, Kyle,” Willy whispers, heart caught in his throat, he’s finally. It’s really. Kyle is.

And then Kyle isn’t. Because the phone rings.

Kyle picks it up and whatever is said makes him turn pale, turn scared, turn devastated. 

Willy almost doesn’t want to ask, but then Kyle is leaving the room, raising an eyebrow at him when Willy lingers in the doorway. He knows that the bubble is broken but selfishly doesn’t want to step out of the room and shatter it. 

“We’re going to headquarters,” Kyle says, grabbing his coat and keys in one quick movement. 

Willy nods, walking quickly to catch up to Kyle, trying to calm his racing heart, to not scream about what was just was ripped away. Whatever happened to make Kyle move this quick is clearly important and life-changing. 

Willy doesn’t know how they get to headquarters; all he knows is that he was in the car for a moment, and then suddenly they were outside the bank, Kyle swiftly pushing him through the Records room. They didn’t stop to linger, to joke, to maybe _possibly_ flirt. Not this time. 

Willy spots Auston as he enters the room. The chair at the head of the table is left empty, and the absence of Arthur, Lou, is noticeable; it sends a chill down Willy’s spine. He grew up on the streets; he knows what the methodological destruction of an organization looks like, and what’s happening to the Kingsman follows that to a t. 

“Kingsman,” Kyle says, standing behind the chair at the head of the table, “as you all know, we drink to our fallen leader, Lou Lamerello, who was found dead after a mission this evening. As the longest member of the Kingsman organization, I will take my place as the temporary Arthur until we find-”

He’s interrupted by a blond that Willy vaguely recognizes, “Galahad, I speak for everyone sitting around this table that you becoming Arthur should be a permanent choice.” 

His Merlin, well, the trainees’ Merlin, walks into the room, looking serious, “We’ve traced the death of Arthur, Lou, back to a man named Bettman. We suspect that he had help, and to figure that out, I need to send two of you to the gala he is hosting. I trust you to be able to do it alone, but given that we’re about to ask you for candidates for our second recruiting in two years, we don’t want any unnecessary risks.” 

Kay raises an eyebrow, “I assume you’re here because you want it to be one of me or Galahad and make it Auston’s or William’s final mission.” 

Merlin nods, “That’s what Michael suggested, he strongly believes the mission is a good fit for Galahad and William. I was inclined to agree with him, but with Galahad taking Arthur’s seat, it becomes more complicated.” 

The entire room chuckles, and a dark skinned man that Willy’s heard Kyle call Percival says, grinning, “Come on, Merlin Junior. William’s likely a future kingsman, and a gala is less likely to go wrong than a kidnapping the Middle East.”

Kay grins, “Is that what Auston’s final mission is? Because, if so, he accepts.” 

Auston nods, fist bumping Willy and muttering, “You get to see Galahad in a tux, Will. Take it.”

“Fuck off,” Willy whispers, sitting up straighter when Kyle glances at them. He ducks his head when Kyle looks away. It’s the first time they’ve looked at each other since the moment in Kyle’s office, which now feels like weeks ago instead of less than an hour ago.

“Alright.” Merlin says, nodding to Kyle and Willy, before turning to speak to Kay. “Kay, Auston, there’s been a ruckus in Denmark, something about Prince Frederik. The details are being sent to you as we speak.” 

Auston had inhaled sharply at the mention of the prince, and Willy remembers the whispered conversations they’d had in the library once they’d made the final three, about wanting things that seemed impossible, about having something snatched away, and he realizes that Auston had been talking about someone in particular. Apparently, Auston’s “almost” is the fucking Prince while Willy’s “almost” just became the head of the spy organization he’s praying he becomes a member of. 

“So William and I will go to gala, see if Bettman has any associates of the unsavory type, and then we will reconvene here,” Kyle declares, standing up and everyone else follows suit. 

“Other than himself,” Willy mutters quietly. Kyle gives him a nod, and he knows to stay put. 

Merlin sits down at the table when Kyle gestures for him to take a seat, something he does with a reverence that says that Lou had never granted him the same courtesy. 

“Put on your glasses please, gentlemen.”

Willy takes the seat that Kyle had vacated, next to Kyle and across from Merlin, as information zooms before his eyes. He notices a few names that keep popping up, the older gentlemen that throw money at conservative politicians, the ones that want to cut social programs and teacher pay, the ones that want to destroy the progress of a new generation. But that doesn’t explain why he’s targeting Kingsman, even though it keeps getting younger, keeps getting more progressive. There has to be another reason but it doesn’t seem obvious in the moment. 

“We do know that he’s been hiring young men who have gone through most of the Kingsman recruitment process these past few years, but we don’t know how he’s getting their names or which ones he picks,” Merlin explains. 

He frowns, adding, “He just hired Max, Arthur’s pick.” 

Kyle clearly access to different information than Willy does because he says, running a hand over his forehead in frustration, “He’s hired Arthur’s picks since 2009, stockpiling them for something.” 

“Was Arthur’s death a fakeout?” Willy asks.At that news, he has to ask it. 

Kyle shakes his head, “Our Merlin saw it happen. I trust him.” 

There’s a pause in Kyle’s words, an underlying worry that Willy is pretty sure only he sees, and now he’s nervous. 

“Well, gentlemen, the gala is in three days, I expect you know what to wear,” Merlin says, nodding towards Kyle and standing up. 

Willy takes the three days to go see his mom and his sisters, to talk to Nick and find out that his childhood best friend is leaving to replace a friend of his in the racing circuit. It’s a good job, and he’s happy for him. His sister mentions a boyfriend, and Willy thinks about Kyle, thinks about the almost kiss, thinks about the perfectly tailored suit that showed up in his room like magic the day before. 

It passes too quickly, and before Willy realizes it, there’s a car outside his house and he’s taken the bank, dressed in the fancy suit that Kyle bought for him. 

Kyle grins, small, before turning serious when Willy sees him. 

“Where to?” 

“Pre-Mission Briefing, and we need some weapons,” Kyle answers. “The tux is bulletproof, but we need to give you some other Kingsman gadgets. I will not having you going in to the fray unarmed.” 

“Aww, you do care. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone,” Willy jokes, trying to hide his nerves, but unlike everyone else in his life, Kyle sees right through his walls, like they’re transparent and not the hard concrete he’s always imagined. 

“Willy,” Kyle says softly, his hand moving from his side like he wants to touch Willy in reassurance, but he doesn’t, letting it fall back. 

“I’m ready for this. It’s just recon, after all. Not like Auston who gets to rescue his kidnapped Prince, and get the big damn heroes kiss,” Willy says, shooting a grin over at Kyle as they move towards the conference room where the trainee’s Merlin is waiting.

“Merlin.” 

Willy greets the other man with a nod while Kyle gives him a handshake. 

“Glasses please,” Merlin says, flicking the light switch, and the wall in front of them transformed into a video screen with some photos of Bettman staring at them.

“He’s creepy,” Willy comments low.

Kyle laughs, “And you haven’t met him.” 

Willy shivers dramatically at the thought, and Merlin turns to glare at them, “This could save your life, you know, and we can’t afford to lose either of you.” 

Miming a salute, Willy starts paying attention. One thing that sticks with him is that Bettman has connections to every single proto-populist, anti-progressive wing in most developed countries and has publicly advocated against worker’s rights. It just tells Willy that this guy is an asshole, and he’s been known to wiggle his way out of some nefarious shit, including the coup that Kyle had mentioned in Geneva and the most recent US presidential election. 

But it’s those things in combination with his recruitment of former Kingsman trainees that make Willy nervous. This isn’t a normal recon mission; they’re going in to a confrontation with people who know who they are and how they operate. 

Someone has been leaking secrets because every former Kingsman was killed on a highly classified mission. 

And then he realizes that he doesn’t even know how most of the deceased Kingsman were killed, the only he knows about Arthur but before he can ask, Merlin wraps up the briefing. 

“This is all the information we’ve collected so far. I’ll be monitoring Kay and Mr. Matthews’ mission, so Michael will take point with you.” 

Kyle nods, standing up and nudging Willy when he doesn't move, a sense of forbidding keeping him seated. 

He eventually stands, thanking Merlin and following Kyle to the weapons room, which predictably is a literal bank vault that, instead of housing money, houses technology. Kyle grabs a couple pens, a pocket square, and some cuffs. 

“What do those do?” Willy asks.

Kyle grins, “The cuffs pop open to show a pill, a fast acting poison. The pocket square expands into a bullet absorbing shield, and the pens, when you twist them, become grenades.” 

“Awesome,” Willy breathes, looking around the room in delight and reaching out to grab a pen and a cuff that Kyle very carefully pins to his sleeves of his shirt, running his finger over Willy’s wrist and biting his lip. When Kyle turns away, Willy takes a large inhale, steadying himself against one of the shelves because that’s the closest he’s been to Kyle since the almost kiss. The desire for the older man hasn’t gone away in the three days apart; if anything, it’s gotten stronger. 

His eyes sweep the shelves, seeing iphones and car keys, seeing ties and shoes, and even some more classic weapons like guns and…

“Holy shit, is that a sword?” Willy demands, striding over and picking up the beautiful and perfectly balanced blade. 

“Woah, do you know what you’re doing with that thing?” Kyle asks, standing a few feet away. 

Willy rolls his eyes, flipping the sword in his hands and parrying it forward, faking a couple fencing moves that come to him naturally as breathing. It’s been years since he’s stood in a gym and fenced against real opponents, but for some reason, his dad had put a sword in his hands about the same time he’d put him on skates, and he’d never lost a love for it. Like everything else in life, fencing was something he’d been really good at but something that he’d given up. 

“Didn’t you read my file?” Willy asks, not waiting for an answer. “I was a champion fencer in my area for years until I was fourteen, and the only things left were travelling teams. Mom couldn’t afford it. It’s why I had to quit hockey too. Jacq and Stef deserved the childhood I got and we couldn’t do that if I was in even one of fencing or hockey.” 

“Well, muscle memory is one hell of a thing,” Kyle murmurs, low and admiring, and Willy flushes, setting the sword down back on its shelf with a tinge of regret. 

“We can’t take it with us, can we?” Willy confirms when Kyle nods. 

He turns away, and he hears footsteps retreating before coming back over to him, a hand on his shoulder. 

Kyle looks at him with a smirk, holding out a necklace. It’s silver, pure silver, far more expensive than anything Willy has ever worn. He raises an eyebrow at Kyle, if it was anyone else in the room with him, Willy knows he’d be flirting but Kyle makes him hesitate. Kyle, in whatever way Willy can have him, is more important that a random salesperson or someone at the club. He’s not going to ruin it. Even though he gets the sense that Kyle wants this too. 

“Twist the charm clockwise,” Kyle says softly, and Willy does, the necklace turning into a dagger. 

“Figured you should play to your strengths.”

Willy knows he’s beaming, but he can’t help it. 

“Shall we?” he says, fingers playing with the charm as he steals a set of car keys.

“Put them back,” Kyle calls back over his shoulder, and Willy sighs loudly. 

“This does mean you’re driving,” he says, racing up to catch to Kyle as they make their way out of the bank to the car that Kyle unlocks. 

They talk over the mission while driving to the gala, confirming that they’ll pretend not to know each other because Bettman only just recruited Domi, therefore he should have no knowledge of who Willy is. But Bettman’s connection and knowledge confirm that he’ll definitely know who Kyle is. 

Willy gets out first, flashes his ticket and mutters a “Nice job ,Merlin” into the earpiece, forgetting for a moment that the Merlin monitoring their mission isn’t the one he’s used to and has ignored his existence for the past sixth months, acting as though his test scores and success and presence in the final two is the greatest fluke he’s ever seen. 

There’s no response until he hears a gruff voice say, “Nylander, did you clock the guys to your right.” 

It’s not a question even though it’s phrased that way and Willy can’t help the smirk that tugs on his lips as he drowns a glass of complimentary champagne, “Yes, definitely hired guns. Not one of Bettman’s recruits.” 

There’s no response, and Willy’s eyes sweep the room again, spotting Bettman at one of the center tables, chatting with a politician who Willy’s is pretty sure is former minor league hockey player. He almost says something mean about Canada, but he’s trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, and well, starting a fight over country honor and pride does not achieve that. 

The DJ starts playing, and Willy is about to go walk up and requests a song when he realizes who exactly is up at the tables: the one and only Max Domi, the ex-kingsman trainee. The only person who knows who Willy is. Who knows what him being here means.

“Merlin, we have a problem,” Willy says quietly. He figures that in this mission he should communicate through Merlin instead of bypassing him and talking to Kyle exclusively, even though that’s what his gut is telling him to do. 

“What did you do now?” Merlin demands, sounding annoyed already, and Willy straightens up and bristles. He’s not trusted by the man in the sky, and that makes him worried. 

“I did nothing. Domi is here,” Willy whispers, running his hand through his hair just as a young looking smiley brunette walks up to the bar. 

The brunette turns to face him, looking him up and down and smirking, “You also worried about running into an ex?” 

Willy shakes his head, and the guy leans in closer. “I can’t imagine anyone who would dumb enough to dump you. You’re gorgeous.” 

Any other night, Willy would flirt back. Willy would probably even take the guy back to his room but not tonight. Not with what’s on the line. Not with his future so close that he can see it like a vivid dream.

He drinks a sip, not engaging with the guy, eyes watching the room, but the guy clearly thinks highly of himself and keeps trying to talk to him.

“Look, I’m sorry, I’m just not interested,” Willy finally says after several minutes, his eyes finding Kyle’s across the room, who’s talking with a beautiful woman but still smirks at him. 

The guy follows his eyes and grins, “Seems you’re just interested in someone else,” 

“Yeah,” Willy sighs, being more candid than he normally would be. Even though his gut is saying not to trust this guy everything is telling him it’s fine. Besides it’s only a small part of his gut anyway. 

“He not interested?” the guy asks.a

Willy drowns more of his drink before replying, “Doesn’t mix business and pleasure.” 

“Ah,” the guy says, reading between the lines with a quickness that has Willy growing suspicious. 

“I’m going to dance. I’ll see you out there,” the guy says, leaving Willy feeling wrong-footed and unsure. The guy is too nice to be a spy, but he has no idea who Arthur’s former recruits are. He hates that he didn’t go into this with all the information. 

He glances up at Domi in the DJ booth, just as Domi’s eyes sweep across the crowd and spot him, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. 

“Merlin, we’ve been made,” Willy says urgently, clenching his fingers into fists as he watches Kyle move his way to Bettman and talk to the asshole for a moment. Kyle taps his arm, slipping the bug into his pants pocket, and Willy is ready to bolt. 

Kyle is Arthur now; Kyle is the future; Kyle needs to be safe. He spots the guy he’d been talking to at the bar walking over to where Kyle is leaning against the wall in the corner. 

Willy swears, “Merlin, they’re targeting Kyle.” 

No response. 

He sees Kyle one second and then looks down to make sure he has the pen clenched in his hand and then looks up to see Kyle, the guy, and Domi have disappeared. That Bettman is on stage and he knows that Kyle’s trained for longer than him, that Kyle can handle himself but he follows, still trying to reach Merlin.

“Merlin, fuck, they’ve taken Arthur.”

No response. What the fuck. 

Willy shuts his eyes, the thought that enters his head makes sense but terrifies him. Merlin isn’t responding to him, Merlin isn’t communicating with him, Merlin hasn’t said a word since a minute after he entered the gala. In fact, the last time they communicated he’d just seen Kyle hand his coat to the hostess with a smile. Fuck. 

Fuck.

“Merlin, I’m going in.”

No response. 

That confirms it. Willy pulls out his earpiece and shoves it in one of glasses of champagne, hearing a voice yell at him before crackling and dying as the alcohol enters the technology. 

Holy shit. 

Michael, Merlin, whoever it is that’s the voice for the Kingsman, has been trying to destroy the organization, has been passing the information to Bettman and who was brought in by the now deceased Arthur. Merlin who trained every Kingsman but Percieval and now whoever will take Lancelot and Galahads’ seats. 

He has to save Kyle. But he’s on his own, with nothing but his own instincts and the weapons that Kyle adorned him with. 

He flips the charm counterclockwise once he’s out of the room, holding the dagger steady in his hands even as his heart pounds. Willy walks through the darkened hallways, finally hearing voices from a side closet. 

He stands outside, leaning in close to hear Kyle responding to some sort of threat, “If you fucking touch him…” 

He sounds dangerous and not scared at all, even as Domi responds with the classic villain chuckle, “What are you going to do about it? We’ve taken your weapons; you’re tied to a chair with the knots we learned from the organization you know run. We’ll kill you and show your body to that boy that’s worthless and greedy and doesn’t deserve his spot, but you’re only so fond of because he sucks you off.” 

There’s cruel laugher, and Willy now knows that there are six other people in the room, including Kyle and Domi. 

“Enough, boys. Get it over with,” he hears a voice order, a voice he recognizes, and clearly Kyle does to because he lets out a loud gasp, loud enough that Willy can hear the betrayal and shock imbued within through the door. 

“Merlin!” Kyle demands, and Willy can hear the chair shake as Kyle tries to lunge and murder his former mentor and confidont. 

“Kill him, and find the boy,” Michael says dismissively, and Willy knows that now is the time to reveal himself. 

He kicks down the door and strides through it, his dagger gleaming silver in the moonlight, “I’m right here.” 

There’s a gunshot, and Willy lifts up the dagger to deflect into the corner where it singes the hair of the girl who Kyle had been talking to. Another former trainee, another traitor. She dives, pulling something from behind the curtain. It’s the bottom park of skate blade, that she flings at Willy, that he just barely manages to step aside, but not without it cutting off a strand of hair, and if Willy was mad before, he’s ballistic now. 

“My hair, you cut my hair,” he growls, trying to hide his laughter because of all situations to quote Mel Brooks, this was not the one he expected. 

Kyle laughs out loud, and Willy grins at him, slashing his dagger against the gun of one of the men he doesn’t recognize, twisting it as he kicks him and shoves him backwards, the back of the man’s head slamming into the table. 

Something else goes whizzing by his head, another skate blade, now stuck in the wood of the door.

“Missed me,” he taunts, grabbing the pen and clicking it once right against the chest of Domi, sending a lethal spike of electricity running up and down the guy’s body. 

Merlin has disappeared, but Willy’s now right by Kyle, so he carefully cuts through the knots binding his mentor. 

“I’ve got these idiots, you get Michael,” Willy confirms, using his dagger to send one of the brunettes crashing to the ground. 

Kyle grins something fierce, showing his teeth and reaching over to grab a gun that someone had left carelessly on the table, “Meet you back here.” 

Willy nods and suddenly Kyle is spinning him around and pressing a firm kiss to his lips. He hears a shot and realizes that as Kyle was kissing him, he was shooting at one of Bettman’s agents. 

It’s ridiculously hot, and Willy wishes that they just fast-forward this bit, but then Kyle is stepping back, eyeing the door that’s now open.

“Go, I’ll be fine,” Willy reassures him, ducking under the desk as Kyle heads out the door. 

He turns his attention back to the men and woman still standing, one of them heavily bleedly from where Kyle fucking Dubas fucking shot him as he fucking kissed Willy. Literally what the fuck is his life? 

“Well,” he asks, smirking even as his lips still tingle from Kyle’s kiss. He’s goading them, and he knows it but it makes them sloopier. 

“I’ve already killed two of you and gotten kissed so…” 

The woman hurls another skate blade at him. Where the fuck is she getting these? He almost wants to ask, but she’s trying to kill so clearly conversation is off the table. Unfortunately. 

He’s almost sad that he has to kill her but if he doesn’t, she’ll come after him. He flips his dagger in the air, letting it land in his outstretched hand, the tip firmly buried in the chest of the man that had been flirting with him at the bar. 

There’s two of them left, the girl and him. 

“Only one of us is leaving this room alive, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be you,” she snarls, and Willy grins, blocking the skate blade with his dagger. 

“I’m pretty sure I’ve got something to look forward to when I get out of here, and you have reporting to Bettman, so... you’re the wrong one here.” 

The girl laughs, high and loud, and Willy’s hair is standing up on his arm as he hears a slow clap from behind him. 

He turns around to see Merlin, Michael, _the traitor_ , holding Kyle by the hair, both of them bleeding heavily.

“You did well,” Kyle murmurs, as Michael throws him to the ground. 

Willy nods, his dagger behind his back, knowing that Michael has no knowledge of him, that he didn’t care to watch or learn about him, and he looks down hiding a smirk as he realizes he’ll be able to get rid of the traitor for good. The asshole’s overconfidence and over reliance on what he knows will be his downfall. 

“Well, well,” Michael says, and if the guy had a mustache he’d be stroking it. Willy knows he’s about to start his villain monologue, and he’s seen this movie before. The hero bound and beaten, the villain standing above him, and the hero allows him to spill his evil plan. Except that this is endgame, Michael has created his own Kingsman; Michael has a wealthy backer; Willy really, really doesn’t need to hear his reasons for turning traitor.

Would he like to? For sure. 

But with Kyle bleeding from multiple places beside him, with Kyle’s hand reaching out to squeeze Willy’s, Willy knows what he has to do. 

He widens his eyes and looks up at Michael, turning sad and betrayed, “Why did you do this?” 

Michael looks off into the distance, as though he’s reminancing, and Willy counts down in his head, standing up and throwing his dagger into Michael’s heart in one smooth second. At the same time he does that, Kyle pulls out one of his pens and throws at the girl who is inching closer and closer to Willy. Both bodies fall to the floor at the same time, and Kyle grins, pushing a strand of Willy’s hair from his face. 

“Kyle,” Willy says, gazing into Kyle’s eyes as he steps even closer. Kyle’s hand still gently cupping his face. 

“This can’t be a one night, battle adrenaline, thing, not for me” Willy admits, leaning into Kyle’s hand, and he closes his eyes, not wanting to watch Kyle take a step back, not wanting to see Kyle confirm what he already suspects. That Willy is convenient, that Willy gets Kyle’s blood pumping but has not captured Kyle’s heart. 

“Fuck, Willy,” Kyle says, sounding shocked, “look at me, please.” 

And Willy realizes that Kyle hasn’t moved, that his hand is still stroking Willy’s face, and he lets his eyes flutter open. 

This close he can see how Kyle has a cut above his eyebrow, how Kyle is keeping his eyes on Willy, how his shirt is singed with bullets that didn’t go through. Thank god for Kingsman suits, Willy nearly says aloud as he notices a bullet sized indentation right at Kyle’s heart. 

His hand reaches up to press against Kyle’s heart and in the silence of the wreckage, Willy can feel just how fast Kyle’s heart is beating. 

“This isn’t just a one night thing for me. The first time I saw you and you talked back to me, you made me want more than I thought was possible. And then these past few months happened, then last week happened, then I kissed you, and I knew, _this_ is what I will fight for,” Kyle says quietly and Willy can’t not kiss him. He hadn’t really gotten a chance to react earlier but now he wants to make the most of it, to make Kyle know, to assure Kyle that he wants this too. 

Willy leans in the rest of the way, gently presses his lips to Kyle’s and waits for Kyle to respond. It takes a second but that second feels like an eternity, the quietness of the room, the sweat on willy’s palms, the racing of Kyle’s heart. It all fades in the background when Kyle kisses back, one hand coming to tangle in Willy’s hair, the other still cupping his face. It’s not so much kissing, as being kissed but Willy feels himself surrender to the way Kyle keeps it firm but innocent. Even as Willy’s hand clenches Kyle’s shirt, Kyle keeps kissing him. Slowly backing Willy up until they hit the clerk desk and jesus, they really are a cliche, kissing in a coat room after a battle. It’s like all the cheesy spy romances that his sister loves, but real. And Willy sighs into Kyle’s mouth as Kyle finally lets them go a little further, progressing to open mouthed kisses.

Eventually they need to pull back, need to inhale instead of simply exhaling into each other and Willy keeps his hand tightly fisted in Kyle’s shirt, he’s not letting him get away. 

Kyle presses their foreheads together, Willy grinning helplessly at him. 

“Do you really want to do this here? I have a perfectly good bed at home,” Kyle whispers, as Willy leans forward to nuzzle Kyle’s neck, nodding into it.

“Here?” Kyle says, tugging a little at Willy’s hair, making Willy groan and Kyle smirk. Fuck, it’s a good smirk. Speaks to all the things Willy wants Kyle to do and that Kyle seems to want to. 

Willy nods again, kissing Kyle again. This time, it’s dirtier; this time, it’s more; this time, it’s open mouthed, and there’s tongue. Willy’s the first to ask for it, biting gently on Kyle’s lower lip and then when gaining permission, exploring Kyle’s mouth. Both of them are groaning. 

Kyle pulls away and Willy whines, “Come on, Kyle.” 

Pinching his arm lightly, Kyle says, “We are in a hotel. We can go get a hotel room, and I can fuck you on a bed.” 

“I didn’t realize that getting fucked was on the menu, I thought tonight was just recon,” Willy says wryly, beaming as Kyle laughs, shaking his head fondly.

“You, darling, have a way of completely changing the plan,” Kyle grins, kissing Willy again, so clearly, the way he changes things is for the better. 

Kyle’s hand makes it way from Willy’s back to his ass, squeezing it, and Willy pulls away, “Ok, now I see what you mean about doing this in a bed, instead of here.” 

Laughing, Kyle reaches down to hold Willy’s hand, pausing for a moment to say, “I should probably tell someone else about Michael and to send a cleanup crew.” 

He kisses Willy quickly, handing him a credit card, “Go book us a room, babe.” 

Nodding, Willy heads out the door, before turning around and asking, “What are you going to say?”

Kyle raises an eyebrow at him, and Willy sighs, elebrorating, “When they ask why you and I can’t handle cleanup?”

“Oh, that?” Kyle smirks, “That I’m busy with my boyfriend,” 

Willy doesn’t bother to hide his delighted grin, wanting to dart back and kiss Kyle again. He never wants to stop. 

\--

Willy _finally_ , after a trans-atlantic plane ride and a two day long mission debrief, sits down across from Kyle at an incredibly fancy restaurant for their anniversary. Willy still can’t believe it’s been a year since the older Kingsman had decided that he would replace Kyle as Galahad and that Auston would become Lancelot, a year since Keefe became Merlin, a year since Kyle kissed him. Kyle grins at him, clinking their wine glasses together. 

Willy’s been Sweden for the past few months on an undercover mission. The time apart had made him grateful that Kyle was who he was and that he loved him so much; Kyle had flown to Zurich and arranged a covert meeting, obsentialty to talk about the mission, but really to have a long walk around the river through the streets of the city, a very nice hotel suite and some romance. 

“So, I know we could go home, and I could show you just how much I missed you, but I was thinking that we go to a hotel like the first time,” Kyle says, and Willy raises an eyebrow.

“I’m guessing you already booked a room?” 

Kyle nods, and Willy reaches across the table to hold Kyle’s hand, “Give me the damn key card, lover.” 

Kyle lets out a chuckle, pulling a key card from his back pocket and sliding it across the table. 

They’re just finishing their dessert, having spent the evening talking about missions and the other Kingsman. Willy made Kyle giggle when he described the way Auston flew out to see him multiple times on his way to Denmark and Willy had grinned when he heard about Tristian’s new - or apparently old - romance with one of the former kingsman trainees who went on to have a career in government. 

He was glad they are all happy, but apparently someone has just gotten into trouble because Kyle rolls his eyes and frowns, a look Willy sees over Facetime quite a bit when Kyle must assume his role as their leader and not simply Willy’s boyfriend. 

“Ugh, babe,” Kyle sighs, his fingers still interlocked with Willy’s on the table, as he signals for the check from the waiter. 

“What happened?” Willy asks, mentally making sure that he has his favorite weapons with him. 

“Percival got in trouble in Colorado, of all places, and we’re the only ones in North America right now.” 

“So raincheck on the sex?” Willy jokes, getting up as Kyle signs the check.

“In a hotel, yeah,” Kyle says, wrapping an arm around Willy’s shoulder and leaning in close to whisper, “We will be on a plane for the next several hours, so sex isn’t entirely off the table.” 

Willy runs his finger down Kyle’s tie, grinning at him, and pulling him in for a kiss. It’s quick but full of passion and Willy pulls away first, just to hear Kyle whine for him. 

“Come on Kyle, we got an agent to save,” Willy says, fingers sliding into his own pocket, feeling the ring he’d bought when he’d gone to Zurich last week just after his mission ended but before he’d contacted Merlin about coming home. Home to Toronto. Home to Kyle.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos make my life better
> 
> title from Elton John's Your Song 
> 
> find me on twitter @hockeytoruleall


End file.
